Dacha, Sweet, Dacha
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: With a new year comes new revelations to Illya's family.  Warning - N/I


Napoleon Solo carefully maneuvered his way down the staircase, keeping one hand lightly upon the railing. His knee was coming along well and he didn't want to take the chance of twisting it again. There was still a collection of trash and crockery left on the stairs from last night's party and he picked his way cautiously through it. While he could hear some stirring in the dacha, there wasn't a lot of it. He was willing to bet most of the male members of the Kuryakin household were, like his partner, still down for the count.

Napoleon had visited Illya's parents once before, as they moved from east to west following the trail of a THRUSH scientist. The stop, just overnight, had given Napoleon a taste of the family life Illya had left behind. He'd known of his partner's brothers and sisters, but last night had been the first time he'd actually met them _en mass._

He'd been worried at first about telling one from the other, but keeping them straight was easier than he'd imagined. Illya and his youngest sister were blond bookends in a family of brunets. Except for her four inches on his partner, the two looked like twins, a fact Napoleon found very entertaining. Taisia, the oldest sister, was slender like Illya, but very tall and dark, and at the moment, very pregnant. Vyetka, he looked like the proverbial Russian bear, huge and dark with masses of wavy dark brown hair and an equally copious beard. Mykyta looked the same, but without the beard. Svitlana, the remaining sister, was also dark, and, except for Illya, shorter than her other siblings. Napoleon knew enough to not even try to keep the aunts, uncles, husbands, wives, nieces, nephews, and cousins straight though. A good agent knew when to throw in the towel.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and turned left into the kitchen. Yuliya, Illya's mother, was at the stove, heating water and stirring something. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Napoleon. Although her smile was different, Napoleon could see his partner in her eyes.

"You are up early, Mr. Solo," she said in slow, careful English. "Are you still on New York time?"

"Yes and we can speak Russian if you prefer," Napoleon answered her back in her native tongue and the woman nodded gratefully. "And please call me Napoleon."

"That would be easier, I think, thank you. You must call me Yuliya." She offered him a steaming cup of tea and a spoon, which he took to the table and then sat down on the long bench seat. Napoleon knew from previous experience there would be no sugar on the table, but several jelly pots instead. When he'd become partnered with Illya, it had taken him awhile to get used to tea sweetened with jelly instead of sugar, but now he actually preferred it that way now. He scooped up a spoonful and stirred it into his cup.

After a moment, Yuliya sat across the table from him and started to prepare her own tea. "My little one is still asleep?"

Napoleon was at a loss for a moment and then he grinned. _Illya, she means Illya… little one… _ He'd have to remember that, although he suspected his more-than-formidable partner would hand Napoleon his teeth for cuff links if he tried. "Still dead to the world last I saw of him." Napoleon had left his partner buried under a mound of blankets, snoring softly, a sure sign that Illya had exceeded his alcohol quota.

He regarded his tea for a long moment before murmuring, "When you said there was trouble, I was worried."

"He just seemed so ill at ease, Mr…. Napoleon. Since you arrived, he seems more settled… happier now." She smiled. "That's all a mother wants – to see her children happy. And I worry about him."

"Illya does all right taking care of himself."

"That's what his papa says, but you have to allow a mother her concern." She stopped, first to sip her tea and then to look around the kitchen, so quiet after several days of craziness. Soon, the rest of the family would rise and the insanity would start again, but for now the kitchen waited, quietly and patiently. "I've seen him…," she admitted quietly, "…as he sleeps."

"Pardon?"

"He's been hurt so many times in the past."

A statement and not one the American could argue with. Napoleon's hand fell to his leg, absent- mindedly massaging an old injury of his own. "He is a fighter, I'll grant you that."

"Not all of his scars are visible though." She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. "You did know he was married once, a long time ago."

"I guessed from the wedding ring he wears, but he doesn't talk about it and I don't ask."

"It was just before he was to leave for school in England. For the good of the country, they told him, and presented him with a woman. He was informed that it was his duty to the state to procreate and continue his genetic line. He didn't love her; she certainly didn't love him, but they were good Soviet citizens and did what they were told. At least until Anzhela got a taste of what awaited her as the wife of an absentee husband. Military wives have to be strong; she was not and she rebelled. She became pregnant, but when the child was born, it was obviously not Illya's. My son is an honorable man; he was willing to give the child his name, but his mother was not so inclined. She left him and soon after, Anzhela and the child were killed."

Napoleon's eyebrows shot up at that. "Accidentally or planned?"

"The ordinary citizen has no way of knowing. Nor were we encouraged to find out. Illya left for England, but he blamed himself for their deaths. I fear his heart never recovered from the whole affair. He's still so alone."

Napoleon smiled at her usage of the word. "I can assure you, ma'am, his heart is just fine. Our jobs are such that to be married right now isn't a good idea." He didn't need to tell her that it was also against company policy. He watched her, sensing there was something else, something she was afraid to broach. He reached out and touched her hand. She smiled and covered his with her other hand. "And he's never alone, Yuliya, not while I have anything to say about it."

"And now that's why you're here, Napoleon."

"Yes." He released her hand and picked up his cup. "It's what partners do, we watch out for each other. You called and I came."

"I'm so glad. He's better for you being here," she murmured and a noise drew her attention.

Illya drifted into the room, dressed in a loose pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. He half stumbled to where Napoleon was sitting and motioned him aside with his hand. Obligingly Napoleon slid over and Illya picked up his mug without sitting. At first, he thought Illya was going to hand it to him, but instead the Russian took a deep drink from it and frowned at the cup.

"Oh, Napoleon, apple?" He ran his hand over his whisker-stubbled jaw. "Have you no sense of propriety?"

"You don't like it, get your own," Napoleon muttered and Illya nodded, handing it back to him. He took a step toward the stove before his mother's voice stopped him.

"Illyusha, you sit and I'll get it for you. I fear for the stove's safety with you in this condition."

Illya stretched and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair before collapsing onto the bench beside Napoleon, half leaning against his partner. "Oh, what a party."

"Hair of the dog, old man?" Napoleon made the switch back to English to give his tongue a break.

"More like a yak." Illya made a face and rubbed his temples. "My mouth tastes the way a tidal pool smells and that's after brushing my teeth. I should have just shaved my tongue. "

"There's a visual for you." Napoleon stirred more jelly into his tea as Yuliya set down a large mug in front of his partner.

"I should never try to out drink a fellow Russian, especially my brother. Remind me to avoid any songs with the chorus of "drink, drink, drink' tonight."

"More celebrating? Didn't you get enough last night?"

"You don't understand the whole concept of New Year's here, my friend." He waved a hand expansively. "All we have to do here in the winter is eat and drink."

"All?"

Illya's smile was impish, "Well, not **all**, but for the most part. This will go on until the 14th of January."

"I'll give it to the Russians; you do know how to throw a party." He studied his partner as Illya started to doctor his own cup of tea. "I think you need to go back to bed."

"I will, but I am hungry."

"What a news flash! Illya Kuryakin is hungry."

"You're lucky I'm hung over and not inclined to take you down to the mat, Solo."

Napoleon chuckled, barely managing to stifle a yawn. "I do believe the jet lag is catching up with me as well. Bed isn't that bad an idea."

"Why are you here, Napoleon?" Illya reached for some dark bread and spread a thick white butter on it. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm glad you are, but why?"

"Why not?"

"I could think of possibly a dozen reasons without even trying. Just to get my government to agree to permit an American within its borders…"

"An American with a Star of Lenin…"

"Granted, but even then it's no easy feat."

"The Soviet ambassador needed an escort and I had nothing better to do. Plus it got me out of the office for a few days. I was going stir crazy. Your mother gave me a standing invitation, so I figured, two birds, one stone."

"Incredible." Illya chewed for a moment. "And I know you're lying through your teeth, old friend."

"Well, that too."

"Thank you. I was about to go insane." Illya added jelly to the bread.

"With this mob? I can believe it. How do you keep them all straight?" Napoleon asked, fixing a piece of bread for himself and Illya chuckled.

"Bring that with you. Otherwise, we'll never make good our escape." Illya collected a plateful of _drachona_, an egg rich cake, and a refill of his tea and padded back out of the room. Napoleon turned to say something to Yuliya, but she gestured with her hand.

"Go!"

Napoleon was careful not to slosh his cup as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, then made a sharp turn and continued up into the attic. The staircase was extremely narrow, almost like a ship's gangway. He kept one hand on the railing and concentrated on keeping the cup steady. Topping the stairs, he glanced around the landing and over to the smaller room set off it.

"So what made your father put your room up here? Were you that bad as a teen?"

"Actually it was later than that. They thought I could do with a bit of privacy and had it constructed while I was stationed in Siberia. I came home on leave and there it was, a place where I could escape from my sibling entourage. Don't get me wrong, I love my brothers and sisters, but even I have limits."

"Was this before or after you got married?"

"Mama told you, did she?" Illya set the plate and his mug down as he shook his head. "The woman never could keep a secret."

"She's worried, that's all. I tried to reassure her that you were fine." Napoleon paused and then took a deep breath. "Illya, your mother said they had been killed. Is this true?"

"As far as she knows, yes. In reality, they merely relocated to Paris."

"Was that the woman I saw you with the last time we were there. The one in the café with the little guy?"

"Yes, that was Anzhela and Anatoli. We have remained friends, but nothing else."

"But you still wear her ring."

"As you do your former wife's." Illya smiled, with just a touch of sadness. "For the thought of what our lives should have been, had circumstances been different.

Napoleon set down his cup on the bedside table and started to undress. "Of course."

"Of course."

"And it's been making me crazy keeping my hands to myself," Napoleon admitted slowly, glancing slyly over at his partner.

"You don't have to, Napoleon, not here." Likewise Illya tugged off the tee shirt and slipped out of the pants. Now naked, he didn't spare any time climbing back between the sheets and blankets. The room was cool, but the sheets were still warm. "Men touch each other all the time here, hugging, kissing, it's practically a Soviet way of life and, frankly, I think it's a way to stay warm."

"Well, there's touching and then there's… touching." He settled against Illya and let his fingers glide up a thigh to cup Illya's testicles. He brought his mouth to Illya's ear and whispered, "I want to touch you."

Illya thrust into his hand. "I'm right here."

"So are your parents… and your brothers and sisters and aunt and uncles and nieces and nephews…"

"Napoleon, if you wait for a moment to be alone in this house, you're going back to New York with blue balls." Illya tilted his head back to give Napoleon access to his neck, allowing Napoleon dominance this time. It was a role they handed back and forth easily enough, at least in bed.

When Napoleon took Illya to bed for the first time, he'd expected, even anticipated his partner's stamina and strength. What had come as a surprise was Illya's enthusiasm. However quiet and reserved the Russian might be in other things, love making was not one of them. And while Napoleon often appreciated hearing the cries and moans of passion escaping from Illya's lips, this was neither the time nor the place.

"All right, but quietly, my love, quietly." He dropped his mouth to Illya's throat, biting and sucking, making his mark just below the collar level. Illya arched and hissed, his hands digging into the muscles of Napoleon's back.

When he felt satisfied with his handiwork, Napoleon let his lips continue, moving down to nuzzle the dark blond chest hair before moving to first one and then the other nipple, sucking and nipping them into sharp attention. And all the while, his hands explored, tickled, massaged, and caressed Illya into a rock-hard erection.

Napoleon slid beneath the sheets to rub his cheek against Illya's penis, the stubble on his face making Illya groan as the bristles abused the tender flesh. Napoleon dipped his tongue into the pre-ejaculate, sampling, and Illya made a shamefully needy sound, one that sent lightning bolts to Napoleon's groin.

"Shhh, Illya, remember, quietly." Napoleon admonished, drawing his tongue up one side of the hot flesh, skimming just the tip and then back down the other side. "You need to be quiet."

"I can't," Illya's voice was strained as his hands fisted into the sheets.

"Ah but you must." Napoleon sucked one of his own fingers, making it slick with his saliva and let the finger trail down before pressing it into Illya.

"_Христос_," Illya swore, pressing back, anxious for more.

"_Хороший_?" Napoleon asked as he added a second finger.

"Хороший," Illya whispered. "_Но я нуждаюсь..."_

"_Я знаю то, в чем Вы нуждаетесь." _Napoleon murmured "_ мой российский волк, и я дам это Вам достаточно трудно, чтобы сделать ваш скрежет зубов, но мягко, спокойно, не будя мир. "_

Yuliya opened the door carefully, quietly, so not to disturb her eldest or his guest as they slept and started to climb the stairs. She'd only been up in this part of the house a handful of times and never when Illya was't here. It was like it was his private space, one that she was hesitant to violate, but she wanted to offer hospitality to Illya's guest.

She had only climbed three steps when she heard the voices.

"Christ!" That was Illya, his voice thick and strained.

"Good?" His friend's sounded seductive, silky.

"Better, but I need…" Illya's voice had dropped to a whisper now, barely audible, and Yuliya found herself holding her breath.

"I know what you need, my Russian wolf, and I will give it to you hard enough to make your teeth rattle, but softly, quietly, without waking the world."

Then there was a groan, strangely muffled as though through cloth of some sort and a rhythmic squeaking of bed springs and Yuliya was embarrassed as she realized what she was listening to, but at the same time, rooted to the spot for fear of detection.

She heard Illya babbling out Napoleon's name again and again, as if it were a mantra, then a loud gasp and a moan.

"Oh God, Illya, give it to me, my love, give it…" A groan and then a sigh. "Love you,"

"Love you more." And Yuliya could bear no more and she slipped from the staircase and back into the hall.

Illya's head cocked for just a moment. "Did you hear something?"

"Just my heart trying to play catch up with the rest of me. What was it?"

"Nothing, work-related nerves, I guess." Illya settled down against the pillows and waited for Napoleon to stretch out beside him. "That was just what the doctor ordered. Thank you."

"You've very welcome, Dr. Kuryakin." Napoleon kissed him and sighed. "Always happy to make a house call."

Yuliya was standing alone, wrapped in a heavy cloak, her mind a million miles away from the spot where she stood. Above her head fireworks exploded and colored the night sky. Her family, down closer to the lake and gathered around a bonfire, watched the display, shouting and singing, as they were wont to do.

"Mama?" She heard Illya's voice and her breathing caught for a moment as she watched him approach. "You've been avoiding us… me all day, Mama. What's wrong?"

"I… I haven't been avoiding you, Illya Nichovetch."

"Now I know there is something wrong, you never call me that unless I'm in trouble."

"Anzhela, was she a lie too?" She spun on the man she thought she knew.

"What? I don't understand."

"Was she just a lie like everything else in your life, Illya Nichovetch?"

There was a long silence as Illya worked out the pieces; he was always quick at a puzzle, Yuliya realized.

"I was right. I did hear something this morning. You were on the stairs, weren't you? You heard us."

"Yes."

"I never wanted you to find out like that. " Illya sighed. "I tried so many times to tell you, explain to you, but the words and the moment always failed me."

"And so you let an innocent girl and her child die for your… what? Wordlessness?"

"Anzhela is not dead, Mama. She and her son live in Paris now and I see them whenever I can." Illya crossed his arms and stared up at the sky. "We attempted what the government asked of us and we failed. Vasili stepped in, but when the child took after him instead of his mother, we agree that something needed to be done to save Anzhela's family the shame."

"And still you live this lie."

"Yes, because it is what is expected of me. It is better to have the world say the son of Nicholai Kuryakin is incapable of being a good husband and father as opposed to the truth."

"That you prefer the company of men to women?"

"All my life I have done what was asked of me, by you and Papa, by our government and now by my employer. Just once I want to do something for me. Just once in my life, I want to be selfish… and happy. Surely I'm permitted that…just once." At his mother's silence, Illya sighed again and dropped his arms. "We will leave first thing in the morning."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I assume you wouldn't want me… us here… now that you know the truth."

"I was the one who asked Napoleon to come, because I wanted you to smile and mean it. Your eyes were so sad, so full of emptiness until you saw him. This afternoon, I saw you content and satisfied, at peace. Do you think so little of me that I would drive you out of your home because you took a gift offered to you?" She reached out to touch his cheek. "I will not pretend to understand, but you are a good man, Illya Nichovetch. That I do know. And so is your American friend. I've never met anyone quite like him before."

"Napoleon is one of a kind, I will grant you that. If there were more like him, perhaps our two countries could find peace between them."

"That would be a New Year's prayer answered, wouldn't it?" She patted his cheek and sighed. "But perhaps, we should concentrate upon the little miracles for now, yes?" Yuliya allowed herself to be gathered in to a hug, hugging back with all the strength she possessed. "Your papa, does he know?"

"Yes, as does Vyetka. No one else, although I suspect they sense something."

"Our secret then, yes?"

Illya grinned. "You're not known for keeping secrets, Mama."

"Perhaps this one I will, until a day comes when there is nothing to fear from the admission."

"That would be a New Year's prayer answered indeed."

Napoleon came up to the pair, his hands wrapped around two steaming mugs of tea. "You two looked cold over here, so I thought you could use some warming up." He offered one of the cups to Yuliya, and then started slightly as Illya slid his arm around his waist. "Tea, partner?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Leaning closer, he murmured, "It's all right; she knows." He kissed Napoleon's temple and smiled.

"I told you. You can never get anything past a mother," Napoleon muttered back, grinning. "You never listen to me."

"I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

Vyetka approached them, half staggering, half slipping in the snow. "Illyusha, come; be on my team."

"For what, Vyetka?"

"We drink these barbarians into the ground, you and me, like old times, yes?" He thrust a tall glass of vodka into Illya's hand and slapped Napoleon's back, nearly knocking the man off his feet. "United, eh? Like you two."

Illya grinned and laughed. "Yes, just like us two. Now, come, before you fall down…" Illya half led, half supported his brother back to the fire.

"Thank you, Yuliya."

"For what?"

"For accepting us."

"Only a fool doesn't accept reality, Napoleon. The wiser of us accept and embrace it. And I think now, perhaps, you need to call me Mama."

Napoleon grinned and offered his arm to her. "All right, Mama, I think we need to get back to the fire as well and see what indignities those two are going to heap on themselves before the night is over. After all, we need to look out for those we love."


End file.
